


The Best Partner

by HellaDoomkitty (orphan_account)



Series: Weird AUs [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Sherlock, Cat AU, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HellaDoomkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock won't take a girlfriend, boyfriend, or anything in between, but he sure seems to take his cat everywhere. It's starting to get annoying, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Partner

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own BBC's Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories. This case is based on The Adventure of the Copper Beeches by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and edited to give the story a fresh spin.

“What am I missing?” Sherlock hissed, glaring at the tall stack of evidence. “John, tell me what I’m missing.”

“ _Meow_.” Sherlock’s cat, John, perched atop a file.

“How many times do I have to tell you, John?” Sherlock slipped the file out from under John with a flourish. “I’m not missing my humanity, now stop fussing over trivial things.” He flipped through the file before setting it back down.

“Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson peered into the room curiously as John leaped atop Sherlock’s head. “That tall fellow is here to see you. You know, the one with the grey hair and that nose.”

“What about my nose?” Lestrade shot back, entering the room.

“So much for knocking,” Sherlock grumbled. “Hello, Nose, please make yourself at home. I’m afraid John drank the last of the tea.”

“Who’s John?” Lestrade asked.

“That’s his cat,” Mrs. Hudson explained. “He spoils the thing rotten when he remembers to feed it at all. You know, that man may be brilliant, but I’m terribly afraid he’s a little low on creativity. I suggested he name it Jumper but he wouldn’t have it.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock snapped. “Why don’t you kindly show yourself out while I speak with Lestrade?” John reached down and pawed at Sherlock’s face as though reprimanding him.

“It’s fine,” Lestrade assured, “I won’t be a moment.”

“Who died?” Sherlock asked, his expression blank. John hopped down from his head and began pacing around Lestrade’s feet.

“There aren’t any bodies that’ve turned up, no,” Lestrade began tentatively.

“ _Meow_.”

“I agree, John, but I don’t think he knows I was being satirical,” Sherlock replied, turning to Lestrade and adding, “He says it’s clearly a missing something. My money’s on information, and his is on a person.”

“You talk to your cat.” It wasn’t a question.

“He’s rather bright, all things considered.” It wasn’t an answer, and it was clear he wasn’t going to give one anyways.

“I need to know what you’ve gathered on the case,” Lestrade began.

“So it is information you seek,” Sherlock said, shooting a pointed glare at the ball of fur still circling Lestrade. He slipped a file to him in one fluid movement.

“Everything you need to know is there,” he said simply. “Now leave before I set my cat on you.”

“He’s kidding,” Mrs. Hudson chimed in. “The cat doesn’t do a thing he says.”

“He does whatever I need,” Sherlock argued. “Like bringing my attention to your precious file, for instance.”

Lestrade shook his head. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said simply, leaving the room. Sherlock waited a few minutes for Mrs. Hudson to follow behind before speaking again.

“It’s all clear,” he called. “You can enter at your own discretion.”

A young woman, about twenty by the looks of it, stepped cautiously into the room. Her hair was cut into a rather disturbingly youthful bob and her expression appeared concerned.

“Is this the residence of Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” she inquired, her voice soft and sweet.

“You have an interesting story to tell,” Sherlock began, “Even if I wasn’t Mr. Holmes, I would be inclined to ask why you cut your hair so short when it violates your nature, which is far more parental than it is childish. Please make your case quick or I’ll set my cat on you.”

The young woman suddenly noticed the cat and smiled ever so slightly.

“Sweet looking cat,” she commented. John purred.

“You’re not here to talk about my cat,” Sherlock snapped, feeling his patience thinning. “Please, state your name and business. I’m a very busy man.”

“My name is Violet Hunter,” she began. “And this all started when I got a job as a governess for this lovely family- or, they seemed lovely at first. The boy turned out to be a complete devil, but that’s beside the point.

“I first noticed something was off when the father demanded me to cut my hair like this. I wouldn’t have done it, but the pay… Anyways, I cut my hair and then he started giving me all these odd jobs.”

“What sort of odd jobs?” Sherlock pressed.

“He made me wear this blue dress and read to him,” Violet admitted. “And then he enforced a uniform-”

“More blue,” Sherlock inserted.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “More blue. Even when I went out to do shopping for them, always that electric blue. After a few days, I started to notice someone following me. Somehow I’m certain the blue and the stories and the hair are all connected, and it’s beginning to really frighten me.”

“You should be,” he mentioned casually. “Isn’t this a matter for the police?”

“They had me report it, but nothing’s been done on the matter because I have no proof.”

“I see.” Sherlock looked up at the ceiling for a minute, contemplating the tale carefully. To take the case or not to take the case.

“I’m a rather busy man, but I suppose I could squeeze you in,” Sherlock said. “I’ll need to stay the night, as will John, if you want your problem solved with any speed.”

“John?” Violet raised an eyebrow.

“The cat,” Sherlock explained. “I refuse to take on the case if I can’t bring my cat along for the adventure.”

“It won’t be a problem,” she answered. “I can tell him my brother is in town for a few nights or something like that.”

“Genetically impossible,” he corrected, “but I’ll take it. See you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Violet affirmed with a grin. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes!”

“It’s hardly a problem,” Sherlock replied as Violet Hunter practically skipped off.

A minute passed before John let out a soft meow.

“I know,” Sherlock replied.  “It was obvious she’s interested in me. She won’t admit it until I solve her case, though.” John hopped onto the couch and purred.

John could really be an asshole sometimes.

***

Mr. Rucastle was a visibly unpleasant man with a sour face the color of spoiled cream and just as lumpy. He welcomed Sherlock in, if you could call opening the door without much of a word “welcoming”, and watched John suspiciously. John licked Sherlock’s hand good-naturedly.

“Violet can show you around,” Mr. Rucastle said curtly. “Do us all a favor and keep an eye on your cat.”

“Will do, sir,” Sherlock replied, mocking a salute. John let out a small growl of disapproval.

Mr. Rucastle narrowed his eyes. “Stay out of trouble,” he finished, leaving Sherlock behind with Violet.

“He can be a bit much,” Violet apologized. “Please excuse him. Should I show you to your room, then?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

Violet led them down a hall covered in family pictures at different exotic locations to a sparsely decorated guest room.

“Here’s the guest room,” Violet explained. “The bathroom’s just down the hall and Mr. Rucastle would like to request that you don’t make a mess in there because he has a business meeting tomorrow at noon.”

“I’ll have your problem sorted before then,” Sherlock affirmed. “Go on and do whatever you’re supposed to do and I’ll get settled here.”

“Thanks again,” Violet said cheerily, swiftly exiting the room. John looked at Sherlock curiously.

“Mind if I vent my theories out to you?” Sherlock asked, closing the door. “Of course you don’t; you always let me ramble.

“It could be that she’s been hired to masquerade as someone else without her knowledge, but if that’s the case then who is she masquerading as? Or she could be sending a signal out to this mysterious business meeting which is oddly enough being held here of all places, but I haven’t the foggiest what sort of signal would require her to get her hair cut like that   _and_ wear all that blue.”

“ _Meow_.”

“Well now you’re just talking nonsense,” Sherlock argued, picking John up and holding him close to his face. “This is really serious business; John, we can’t fool around.”

John reached up and tapped Sherlock’s nose with his paw. Sherlock looked away and scowled.

“You’re rather useless for a partner, you know,” Sherlock grumbled, setting him down. John meowed and walked towards the door.

“I can’t argue against a little snooping, though.” He left the guest room in a few fluid strides and wandered the halls, looking through as many rooms as he had access to. Eventually he stopped at the attic, which was blocked off by a large wood plank.

“There’s a hole in there where all sorts of nasty creatures climb in.” Sherlock spun around to face an ominous looking Mr. Rucastle. “Had to board it up so you don’t get nibbled on in your sleep.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” Sherlock replied. “What sort of nasty creature lives up there, I do wonder.” His tone darkened as his eyes began boring through Mr. Rucastle.

“A family of rats and squirrels,” Mr. Rucastle insisted, glaring at Sherlock. “I’d be careful where you wander, if I were you. Wouldn’t want to get rabies.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Sherlock said. As Mr. Rucastle began to walk away, he added, “I was hoping to join you and Violet in your evening readings she told me about, if that’s quite alright with you.”

“It’s fine,” Mr. Rucastle answered. “Just don’t be bothersome.” Sherlock watched as Mr. Rucastle left the room and smiled like a fool.

“I promise no such thing,” Sherlock murmured to himself. Everything was just about wrapped up. Time to schedule a visit from the cavalry.

***

“The lake was hidden in the woods just past city limits where the sun always shone brightest. Everything in the forest seemed mystical, from the chattering of the birds to the soft sapphire twinkle of the water. Sometimes, the sounds of children at play could be heard resonating through the trees. A handful of locals would swear on their graves that the day was longer at the lakeside, but very few actually adhered to the rumors. Either way, there were no properties near the water and no one dared swim in it for fear of invoking some sort of dark magic,” Violet read, her voice soft and gentle like it had been when she first went to Sherlock.

Sherlock and Violet sat with their backs to an open window. Lestrade was hiding in his car somewhere, listening in through Sherlock’s phone. The reflection off of a silver vase showed what Sherlock had expected to see- a man, standing at the road. The detective grinned and moved John from his lap to stand, effectively interrupting the story.

“Excuse me for butting in,” Sherlock apologized, “But I have a very important announcement to make. Miss Hunter, your employer plans to sell you to an underground slave trade.”

“How dare you make such accusations in my own home!” Mr. Rucastle exclaimed, his face going beet red.

“It was obvious to me rather quickly,” Sherlock continued, “But I needed evidence or else my good friend outside wouldn’t be able to make the arrest.”

“Stop this instant!” Mr. Rucastle rose from his chair in a fury.

“Blue is a common signal among a certain trade group I had a run-in with a while back,” Sherlock explained. “And while I always knew you were grooming Miss Violet for becoming a slave, the one bit that kept bothering me was the hair. Why make her cut her hair when she was perfectly attractive by conventional standards before? Obviously you wanted her to look like someone else, which meant you were trading Violet in place of someone else, but who?

“The family pictures in the hall are all taken a little off-center, but if you look closely, it’s because someone has been cut out of the pictures. The person in question is Mr. Rucastle’s daughter, who bears a striking resemblance to our Violet Hunter. He has chosen to hide the girl in his attic while he auctions off Miss Hunter like a cow.”

“These are serious accusations you’re making, Mr. Hunter,” Mr. Rucastle snapped angrily. “Where on Earth is your proof?”

“Well, for one, my name is Mr. Holmes and not Mr. Hunter,” Sherlock began. “And John will lead the way to all the proof we need.”

Everyone looked expectantly at John, who simply sat on the floor and groomed himself.

“Useless cat,” Sherlock murmured under his breath. “Fine, the proof you need is in any of the family pictures in the hall and upstairs in the attic.”

“So that man following me-” Violet began.

“Was sent by a human trafficking group to make sure you were qualified goods, so to speak,” Sherlock said. “The meeting tomorrow was to negotiate price, I’d wager. Now Lestrade, if you’re not too busy with the thug on the street, I believe this warrants an arrest.”

***

“Thank you again,” Violet said as Mr. Rucastle was dragged away screaming for a lawyer. “If you hadn’t helped me, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“You would have been sold to a rich man somewhere as a sex slave, most likely,” Sherlock said bluntly.

“I don’t know how I can repay you,” she continued, choosing to ignore the dark comment.

“The adventure was payment enough,” Sherlock replied.

“Well,” Violet said, her voice going soft once more. “Would it be alright if I bought you dinner then?”

Sherlock chuckled. “I don’t do romance and I don’t do sex.”

“But could you _try_ it just this once?” Violet pleaded.

Sherlock gave her a very serious look. “Don’t pay me,” he insisted, walking off with John in his arms.

“ _Meow_.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “Add her to my list of broken hearts when we get back to the flat. You were pretty useless on this case, you know. No more tea for you; it makes you sloppy.”

Violet watched as Sherlock’s silhouette shrank into the night. She almost swore she could hear a soft meow and a burst of laughter in the distance.


End file.
